


A Reminder of Where You've Been

by CuriousxCrowley



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Scars, fluff kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousxCrowley/pseuds/CuriousxCrowley
Summary: It wasn’t the fact that Ianto had scars that had surprised Jack but more the number of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote the majority of this in April. In an effort to clear out my WIPs folder I finished it up.  
> Here have something almost fluffy.

Everyone has scars, tiny marks on their skin that tell the story of how they lived. Jack Harkness is the only exception to this rule of course, as he is the only exception to many rules. He did have scars once, plenty of them that told the story of a soldier turned conman. They were erased with his first unnatural revival, his body healing wounds that were decades old.

Even though Jack knew this he’d still been left feeling surprised when he’d finally gotten Ianto out of his suites and found the scars. Maybe it wasn’t the fact that Ianto had scars that had surprised him but more the number of them littering his pale skin. Back when he’d first seen them things were too new to ask and it didn’t matter. The scars only made Ianto even more attractive because they spoke of a rich history and Jack loved those. He didn’t think of them again for a long while.

It wasn’t until after he returned from the year that never was did Jack begin to consider them again. There were new scars by that point, the shiny pink announcing their newness to him, blaming him for their existence. Jack often found himself awake long after Ianto had fallen asleep tracing a finger absentmindedly along a particularly long scar on the other man’s back. This scar was old, stretched and faded like Ianto had grown with it and it’s familiar in a way that Jack can’t quiet put his finger on.

It’s after the warehouse and the space wale that Jack finally asks. Perhaps it’s the angry red rope burns on Ianto’s wrists that promise more scars by the end of the month, or perhaps it’s the imagined gunshot wound that but for the grace of the graceless universe never happened. That wound never would have healed or scarred.

It’s late in the night and Ianto’s spread out naked on the bed, one arm draped over the edge of the bed where Jack is sitting rubbing salve into the rope burns. “It’ll help the healing but you’ve already got some scars here,” _from that time you were almost meat_ is left unsaid.

“It’s fine, Jack,” Ianto insists though his face is buried in a pillow.

Jack doesn’t argue, instead rearranges Ianto’s arm up on the bed and climbs up next to it. He can’t help but reach out and trace his finger along a scar on the younger man’s neck just below his hair line. Jack doesn’t miss the way Ianto shivers under the touch. “You’ve never told me how you got this.”

“You’ve never asked.” Ianto turns his head from the pillow blinking blearily up at Jack.

Jack smiles and smooths his hand over the scar. “This is me asking.”

There a few moments of quiet and Jack can almost see the debate going on in Ianto’s head. “Lisa,” he answers finally.

Jack raises and eyebrow but says nothing.

“We started arguing about who’s turn it was to wash the dishes and it devolved into one of those couple’s rows where you’re suddenly screaming about that thing they did five months ago. She threw a mug at the wall and it shattered, unfortunately for me I got hit by the shards. She felt so bad you would have thought it was her getting the stitches with the way she cried.”

Jack smiled a little at the story, there was a small one playing on Ianto’s lips as well. It was one of the first times he’d spoken about who Lisa was before Canary Warf. He presses a soft kiss to the scar and turns his attention to the one on Ianto’s back. “And this one?”

“Jack, what are you doing?” Ianto asks turning onto his side.

Jack shrugs but places his hand on the other man’s back to keep him from rolling completely. “I’ve always seen them before I’ve just never asked.”

“My father.” Ianto says suddenly and it takes Jack a moment to realize he’s answering his previous question.

Jack gets it suddenly, understands why the scar looks so familiar. It’s from where something, probably a belt, bit into Ianto’s skin hard enough to break it. He clamps down on the urge to jerk his hand back, instead he keeps smoothing over the mark. “Oh Ianto,” he says quietly.

“I was nine and had quite a mouth on me,” Ianto continues softly, “It wasn’t the first time he’d used his belt with me but I’d never bled from it before. Rhi kept trying to tell me it was fine but she also didn’t let me go to classes for a week.”

Jack didn’t have an answer to this and simply leaned down to press a string of kisses along the faded scar. It spoke perhaps to how exhausted Ianto was that he was actually telling him these things, he’d never mentioned his sister before. Jack knew about her of course, had known about it within hours of their first meeting. He moved his hand and finally allowed Ianto to roll onto his back, there were more scars on his front.

Jack didn’t need to ask about the almost faded scar along Ianto’s neck but he pressed a kiss to it anyway. He tilted his head up and pressed a kiss to another old mark on Ianto’s chin. “This one?”

Ianto laughed, “Flipped over the front of my bike when I was ten, ended up with rock in my chin.”

Jack tried to imagine Ianto as a child, he’d never seen photos and he makes a note to ask to see some sometime. “A daredevil huh?”

“I don’t know of any ten-year-old who isn’t,” Ianto agrees.

Jack smiles. “True, I was ten when I got my first concussion.”

Ianto’s eyes fly open and for a moment he looks surprised. The look fades quickly but he asks, “Really how?”

“Age old tradition of jumping off things trying to fly.” Jack grins ruefully but he doesn’t really feel it. A wave of guilt grips his stomach at just how surprised and eager Ianto is for the smallest bit of Jack and he feels like he’s failed somehow.

Ianto rolls his eyes and let out a ‘pfft’ at Jack. “I was six, of the top of my mates shed. Buggard my elbow good on the landing. Wore a sling for six weeks.”

“Well I had the sense to use a sand dune as my launching point. Wasn’t really trying to fly but there was a cute boy…”

“Of course there was,” Ianto interjects with an eyeroll.

Jack tries to glare at his lover but he can’t keep up the pretenses for too long before a smile slips through. “The sand prevented me from breaking anything but I still knocked my head around pretty good.”

“Ah,” Ianto says mildly, “it explains a lot.”

Jack growls and nips playfully at Ianto’s shoulder. He slides down and presses a kiss to a long one on the outside of Ianto’s forearm, it was jagged and skin had grown in between the edges.  “How about this?”

Ianto sighed and brought the arm in question up to his face. “Canary Wharf.”

This surprises Jack and makes him curse himself at the same time. He’d never realized Ianto carried physical scars from that day along with the emotional ones. This wound would have been fresh the night they met in the park, it would have hurt like a bitch when Ianto picked up that branch. Jack wants to ask how he got it but the look on Ianto’s face tells him to back off, he’s not ready to talk about it and might never be.

Jack shifts, ready to move onto the next mark when Ianto grips his arm and tries to pull him back up towards him. “What’s this about, Jack? Really?”

“They’re interesting.” Jack says with a small shrug but he allows himself to be pulled upwards.

“Jack, they’re just scars. Ugly bits of my past I can’t get rid of.” Ianto says and rolls back onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms.

Jack shakes his head. “No,” his voice is low and rough, “they’re reminders of how you’ve grown.” He thumbs over the scar under his chin. “How you’ve loved.” Jack’s hand slides around to touch what he’ll now always think of as Lisa’s scar. “How you’ve been to hell and back,” he allows his fingers to brush over the reminder of Canary Wharf, “and you’re still brave as hell. They’re just as gorgeous as the rest of you.” Jack says into Ianto’s neck, lips brushing against the thin line from the Beacons.

Jack can feel Ianto blush and he can’t help but smile against his neck.

To him Ianto’s scars aren’t just a reminder of what he’s been through but rather proof of how much he’s survived and can survive.


End file.
